Yet Still Dancing
by Oparu
Summary: Tom and Chakotay spar on the holodeck.  Chakotay/Paris, written for VAMB summer 2011.


_still yet dancing - Secret Summer 2011, written for Shayenne_

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><p>There's an awkward rhythm to it. <em>Thud-bump. Thud-bump. Squeak. <em>It's different. Tom prefers sports with long drops or beautiful onlookers, this has neither. There's no open sky, no starry expanse and a dream of heaven.

There's sweat. Sweat in his hair, coating his neck, running down his back and crawling into his eyes. Can't blink, can't take the time to brush it out.

Chakotay's glove cracks across his face.

"Too slow, flyboy."

Rubbing his chin, Tom shakes the sweat from his hair. "You going to finish this today, old man?"

"I thought you liked me to take my time."

Swing. Dodge. Weave. Follow the steps of the dance. Just like flying. _Feel the deck_. Know your feet.

Laughing, Tom raises his guard. "Can't have you too worn out. Exhaustion makes it hard to do some things."

"Things I like."

Jab. Feint. Jab again. When he connects, the impact runs down his arm.

Chakotay waves him off, wincing. "Good one."

"Good teacher."

"Remember not to break the teacher before he finishes the lesson."

Tom swings around, dodging again, but too slow and he takes a hit hard. The ropes catch him but he has to force himself back to his feet. _Feel the deck, Tom_.

Chakotay's not his dad. He wants him to learn, to know how to fight with honour and skill. His dad just wanted him not to get beat up or get into fights, to behave, to listen, to be what he's supposed to be.

Tom never was though. He's always been a screw up, a lost cause, the playboy, the dreamer; the one who doesn't finish things. Until _Voyager_ needed him. Now he has a place and a family where he lives up to most of their expectations. People trust him. He's a good guy.

Flying on that, he connects twice, hitting Chakotay back.

"Good."

"Yeah?"

"Don't get cocky."

Tom flits away, using his speed to his advantage. "I started cocky."

"That you did."

Another hit, then another, and there's blood on his tongue around the mouthguard. Tom waves Chakotay off, pulling it from his mouth. He strips off his gloves, shaking his head.

"Enough, you got me."

"You broken, flyboy?" Chakotay spits out his own mouthguard and starts peeling off his gloves.

"Just around the edges." Tom slips through the ropes, collapsing on the bench. His breath goes deep, filling his aching chest. "You're good for an old man."

"Good is how you get to be old."

Tom chuckles, dropping his head to his hands. His body sings from the fight, blood rushing, sweat dripping to the floor and endorphins sweeping through him. He feels invincible and spent at the same time.

He sucks his water, then spits it onto the floor. The holodeck will take care of all it, sweat, blood and spit, taking it all away.

"We'll see if I get that far."

"You will."

He looks up surprised. "You think so?"

"You're a rough stone. You always turn up."

"My people call that a bad penny."

"You're not bad."

Chakotay crouches in front of him, hands on his shoulders. The contact is heat on heat and Tom thanks the gods of the holodeck that they're alone. He leans forward, almost fishing for the kiss. Chakotay drags it out, drags them out, like he always does, before meeting Tom just past halfway. His lips are soft and sweat, Tom's not sure whose, is salty and warm.

The stubble around Chakotay's lips tingles against Tom's cheek and their tongues meet slowly. Both their lips are bruised. It's a hungry kiss and a tired one. It's the tired, slow victory of the dawn.

They break, then start again, needy and heedless, even though their limbs are wooden and sore.

"Come home with me," Chakotay whispers, his cheek against Tom's neck.

"Only if you make dinner. I'm out of replicator rations and Neelix couldn't deliver without clucking his tongue about how happy he is for us."

Chakotay stands, smiling. "He'd be thrilled."

"He'd probably make some kind of celebratory leola root casserole." Tom lets Chakotay drag him up, thinking of his Camaro and the navigation report he needs to write to quiet his hardening cock. Damn shorts don't hide much. Slow breaths, feel the deck, Tom.

"I have rations."

"You always do." Tom grabs his gloves and swings an arm around Chakotay's shoulders. "Why is that?"

"Can't a man keep a few secrets?"

"Oh no, Chakotay. Your life is mine. Your secrets are also mine."

Chakotay's laugh echoes down the corridor and the dimples are deep in his cheeks. "It doesn't work that way."

"Oh? Your secrets are too precious?"

They stop, Chakotay backing him into the wall. It's the middle of the corridor, they're seconds from anyone walking past and Tom's going to have to start writing that navigation report in his head if he doesn't want to broadcast his arousal to anyone they pass.

"My secrets are mine to tell when I choose."

Tom grins. "I'll have to find ways to make you choose then."

"I thought you might."

They walk a good distance apart back to Chakotay's quarters, but they barely get in the door before they're locked in another dance. Sweat gives way to new as they tumble onto the bed. Chakotay's skin dark against Tom's, his chest smooth. Bruises are starting on Tom's fair shoulders but they're nothing compared to the mark Chakotay leaves with his mouth.

Tom protests then leaves his own. It's childish, a stupid game, but he loves the way Chakotay's chest moves when he laughs. Tom digs his fingers into the sheets, holding tight when Chakotay takes him into his mouth, pulling his cock deep. Chakotay pauses, taking a breath, feeling him, then meets his eyes and takes him all the way in, so deep Tom can only gasp up at the ceiling.

Tom doesn't have the control for that, not yet, but he has a good teacher. After his turn to reciprocate, Tom wipes his lips. They're saltier than sweat. He crawls up Chakotay's body and drops against his chest, listening to his lover's heart race in his chest.

"You're going to have to teach me."

"Takes patience."

"I could fake it."

"With your teeth there I'd rather you didn't."

Tom laughs and kisses him. "I'll learn."

Chakotay runs his hand through Tom's damp hair. "I know you will." He leaves the bed and pulls on his robe before starting dinner. Tom lays there, watching as his thoughts come to rest. He's home here, safe, respected, hell, even loved.

He can learn patience. If he's ever going to learn it, it'll be now. He's ready.


End file.
